


The Best Worst Time of My Life

by midnightofthesoul



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Decisions, Drama, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Gen, Long, Not Canon Compliant, Slow Burn, Wine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-18 09:37:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13097358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightofthesoul/pseuds/midnightofthesoul
Summary: "I just... I never thought it would be like this." What happens when life, love, and tragedy befall the Bellas? Follow Beca and the other Bellas as they contend with the many challenges life throws at them, five years after graduating from Barden. Non-cannon after PP2.





	1. Prologue

* * *

Prologue

* * *

 

  _Without pain, without sacrifice, we would have nothing. Like the first monkey shot into space. - Tyler Durden_

Fingers flicking rapidly against the counter to a rhythm only she can hear, Beca leans into the beat. It soothes her, knowing that there is a consistency to music, even when it’s absolutely chaotic, there is still an underlying drive. It’s what brings her back, every. single. time.

“Beca?” calls a production assistant from the doorway. “We’re ready to go in five.”

“Cool. I’ll be right there,” Beca gives him a classic, tight-lipped grin and turns back to the mirror before her. She takes in her appearance and shuts her eyes again, still feeling unsettled. The lights in the dressing room are unforgiving, but as long as it covers up her dark under eye circles from sleepless nights, she figures she’s good.

Taking a deep breath, she exhales over five seconds, trying to center herself as she pushes hard against the counter. She works hard to steady her heart, her breath, the quaking anxiety that makes her stomach lurch.

“You can do this,” she murmurs. Beca takes several quick breaths then holds the last as she steps away from the dressing table. Biting her freshly rouged lip, she gives herself one last once-over and turns toward the door. She slides into her leather jacket, then stretches her neck from side to side, just before tugging on the knob.

Instantly wrapped up in chaos, Beca is ushered from the dressing room down a long, cement corridor until she reaches a stairwell that leads up to the main stage. She smiles and thanks everyone she passes, feeling an overwhelming debt of gratitude to everyone who is here. She draws to a halt in front of the stairwell and gives the same tight-lipped smile to the three women waiting for her there.

“Alright, Beca,” Aubrey grins brightly, standing next to Chloe and Jessica. “You’re going to do great out there. Just think, you’ve been working towards this for the last two years!”

“And I have you three to thank for making it a reality,” Beca says with a soft smile. “I just, uh… I wanted to thank you… _all_ of you, for making this happen. I’d probably still be spinning my wheels if I didn’t have you three.”

“Oh please,” Jessica gives up on her bubbling excitement and pulls Beca in for a hug despite her protests, whispering: “You’d have been just fine. You always are.”

Beca pulls away and squeezes Jessica’s hands in thanks, then is immediately engulfed in Aubrey’s tight embrace. “I am so very proud of you Beca. I’m proud of this, _yes_ ; but I am definitely proud of you. Thank you, for letting me be a part of it.”

Beca squeezes Aubrey extra tight, knowing she definitely wouldn’t have gotten here without Aubrey. When they pull apart, she can see a tear streaking down Aubrey’s face. Beca reaches up, quickly wiping it away with her thumb. “I’ll have none of that, Posen. Tonight is for laughter and music.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” she grins at Beca, offering a mock salute in acknowledgement of their longstanding joke.

Beca turns to Chloe, who seems to be holding back slightly, but clearly about to burst with joy. Unsure what to expect, Beca holds out her arms and Chloe leaps in them immediately, causing Aubrey and Jessica to laugh.

“Beca Mitchell, thank you for letting me be part of your journey. I will never, ever forget it,” Chloe whispers into her neck.

_“Never?”_ Beca whispers, harkening to a time lost between them.

“Ever.”

“Always?”

“And forever… _together_ ,” Chloe states vehemently, like the promise it is. She presses a kiss to Beca’s cheek as she pulls away and gives Beca a heart-stopping smile. Beca ignores the acceleration of her heart and takes one last breath, tightening her grip on Chloe’s hand once more.

Then Beca turns to the stairwell and mounts the steps, trying to ignore the thundering beat of her heart. As she reaches the stage, she sees the spotlight just in front of her and steps inside, bathed in blinding light.

“It’s now or never,” she murmurs to herself, running her thumb self-consciously over the ring her father gave her when she graduated college.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” calls the emcee over the loudspeaker. “The moment you all have waited for… Beca Mitchell!”

She takes that first step and the crowd goes wild.


	2. January

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly, everything that Beca knows to be one way, gets upended.

* * *

  **January**  

* * *

   _Los Angeles, California, 2020_

It’s late. So late. Or perhaps it’s early? Beca can’t really tell. All she knows is they’ve been in the studio for easily fourteen hours and she feels like her brain is going to explode. Stretching slowly, she yawns the greatest of yawns and lets out the deepest of sighs, watching as the band she loves so dearly fiddles around with the hook of the next song they’re about to record.

Feeling a mild sense of discomfort in her gut, Beca glances at her coffee mug and considers downing the rest of it’s murky contents. She decides against it because her hand is shaking too badly from caffeine overload. Instead, she reaches for the giant water bottle next to her and chugs until her belly is surely full. The subtle feeling of nausea and wariness doesn’t dissipate, however. Beca wonders if perhaps she should eat something. Maybe she’s just anxious?

“Guys, I know you’re enjoying yourselves in there,” Beca leans into the mic, “but if you don’t make up your minds soon, I’m going to claw out my eyes with this guitar pick and leave a note blaming you.”

“Wow, Bec. Don’t be fatalistic or anything,” Nate, lead singer of _Three Rivers_  based out of Pittsburgh, and annoying friend, shoots back. “We can’t nail down the fourth bar. Come in and help?”

She lets out a long-suffering sigh, ignoring the puppy dog look he gives with his rich, brown eyes. “Oh, no sir. I know that look. You already roped me in on Darkest Night/Knight. so don’t even think I’m gonna fall —“

“Pleeeeease Beca?” croons Tex the guitar/bass player. He used to be a linebacker for Penn State. He’s huge, goofy, and claims he can trace his roots to a Nigerian king; he also knows exactly how to tug at her one heartstring. “I’ll make you mac n’cheese casserole.”

Beca thinks this over seriously, perking up. “Your grandma’s recipe?”

“Of course,” he acts mock affronted, but she can’t be fooled. “I’ll even make you a side of collards.”

“Deal. But I want fried chicken too. A big bucket.” Beca steps away from the soundboard and pushes open the door into the booth. “You’re the only one I know who makes it right.”

Beca looks over to Nate and smacks her hands together. “Alright coach, where do you want me? Bass? Drums? Triangle?”

“ _Funny_ ,” Nate smirks, not looking any worse for the wear after 14 hours, and she hates him for it. “How about back up vocals and hitting the keys?”

Beca quickly slips into producer-mode as she adjusts her expectations. “Oh, you like _for real_ want me to help you on this. Not just a little workshop.”

Nate glances back to John on the drums and tall, willowy Sally who plays the cello as well as bass, shrugging. “Yeah, we kinda… we kinda wrote this one with you in mind… actually.”

She skewers him with a look that says _we’re talking about this later_ and heads to the keyboard, Nate’s usual instrument of choice. This song, however, he’s also playing guitar and lead vocals. He has the decency to look somewhat abashed as he pads barefoot to the keyboard, rifling through the music.

“Here, this should work. Sal and Tex wrote most the music, so it should jive pretty well,” Nate murmurs as Beca looks it over, mentally playing it in her head. Sally graduated from Carnegie Mellon with a degree in music composition and still plays with the New York Philharmonic. Beca may have had a meltdown the first time they met. And Tex — well he nearly equals Beca in his ability to pick up any instrument and play it well. He likes to joke that Beca is his sister from a different mister.

“Alright, guys, let me give it a couple run-throughs,” she says as she settles in front of the keyboard, skewering Nate with a look. “Nice of you to give me a heads up about this, no?”

“I know you hate surprises,” Nate shrugs as he spins the ring on his index finger absently. “But, if you don’t like it or you feel like it doesn’t work, then just back out, yeah?”

Beca gives him a nonplussed look as she places her fingers on the appropriate keys. “You owe me a coffee… And a beer.”

“I’ll bring them when Tex gives you mac n’ cheese.”

Beca starts in with the song, rich warm chords filling the room as she gets a feel for it. “ _Negative_. I know your scheme, Mister Perron. Don’t think I’m gonna share my mac n’ cheese with you!”

He smiles at her, but she can tell he’s focused on what she’s playing, just as much as Beca is. She turns her attention to the music and plays it through once, then plays it a second time, except she sings at the designated bars, her voice soft due to lack of warm up. One more time, she plays it with more confidence, though she still fumbles with some of the phrasing in the lyrics.

“We’re going to have to rework the third verse. It’s a bit clunky,” she says as she wraps up the song, unaware of how quiet the group has grown. When she looks up, they’re all a bit somber, and as she runs over the lyrics once more, she realizes how tragic the song truly is.

“Geez guys, did this have to be such a downer?” she offers meekly, but knows she’s treading on sensitive territory. Nate’s younger brother died suddenly from a brain aneurysm the previous year and Sally recently lost the grandmother who raised her to dementia. The song is sad because _they_ are still sad. “Sorry,” Beca coughs as she takes a sip out of her water bottle. “How about we run it through from the top, all of us?”

“Sounds great, Bec,” Nate replies as he too takes a sip from his glass of water. “Ready and a one, two, three —“

They run through the song twice, but Beca feels it’s still a little lacking in the lyrics department. She fights back a yawn as she turns to the group, about to make a suggestion, when the door to the booth crawls open.

“Beca?” squeaks Javi, her assistant and overall lifecoach. Not that she believes in that stuff, but he does make sure she eats healthy and helped her pick out a couch, so she feels that he qualifies. He looks fearful and ambivalent and a shade or two lighter than normal. Which is understandable, considering Beca has made it _expressly clear_ under no circumstances is she to be interrupted while working with artists. _Especially_ those she likes.

“Yeah?”

“There’s a call for you,” he forces out quickly. “It… sounds urgent.”

Beca frowns, narrowing her eyes at him. “How urgent?”

Javi glances at the group and shakes his head, beckoning her closer. She steps away from the keyboard and walks over to the moderately-built Latino as they leave the booth.

“It’s from a hospital,” Javi bites his lip, holding out the phone like it’s contaminated. “Just… please take this.”

And suddenly, that weird niggling feeling Beca’s had for the last couple hours starts to become a little more compelling. She leans on the control board and gives the band an apologetic glance.

“Hey guys, I’ve got to take this phone call. How about you take ten?”

“Sounds good,” says Nate as he leans back to stretch. “Where is that coffee shop again?”

“Out the side door, one block east.” Beca squints at her watch, her eyes too blurry to focus. “It might be open.”

She takes the phone from Javi, then walks down the eerily quiet hallway towards the area with the best reception at the far end behind a partition.

“This is Beca Mitchell,” she holds the cell phone close to her ear as she crosses her arms.

“Hi, this is Dr. Montrose from Grady Memorial Hospital, in Atlanta,” Beca’s stomach twists in a knot at the other woman’s words. “Just to ensure I am speaking with the correct person, can you give me your father’s full name and date of birth please?”

Brow furrowed, Beca proceeds with the request, slowly. “Warren Michael Mitchell, March….uh… March 18, 1964.”

“Good, thank you,” Dr. Montrose replies, letting out a quiet sigh. “I’m afraid I have some bad news…”

Suddenly, everything that Beca knows to be one way, gets upended. Her body stiffens as she leans against the wall, listening as Dr. Montrose’s fatal words pour out of her phone.

“Your father and mother —

“ _Stepmother_ ,” she corrects swiftly. Despite being married for nearly thirteen years, Beca remains steadfast in the separation.

“Sorry, Stepmother, were involved in a serious motor vehicle accident last night. Your father suffered from internal bleeding and a femur fracture, while your stepmother has head trauma and a fractured humerus.” Dr. Montrose continues carefully, but is still dragging out the point, much to Beca’s chagrin. “Once stabilized, we took your father to the OR to help with the internal bleeding and to repair his femur. Unfortunately, he suffered a pulmonary embolism - a blood clot in the lungs - and entered cardiac arrest. Despite our very best efforts, we were unable to resuscitate him.”

Beca hears the words, but doesn’t comprehend a single thing. She’s unsure if it’s fatigue or the sheer incomprehensibility of this phone call. The absolute sense that she’s supposed to understand what’s happening, and that it’s bad, registers with Beca. But she’s _exhausted_.

“I don’t….” she sucks in all the air in the hallway, pressing it deep within her chest to quell the rising panic. “I don’t understand… I’ve been awake for like…” Beca huffs out a breath, spitballing her alertness. “Maybe three days? I’m going to need you to slow down and say that on a second-grade level.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, she hears the doctor cough as though covering a chuckle. “Sorry, Ms. Mitchell. Your father was involved in a car accident. He was hurt badly. We took him to surgery, but he did not make it through the procedure. I am terribly sorry to inform you, but your father did not make it.”

All that air and steam and bluster usher forth from Beca’s chest, leaving her with severe tunnel vision and grasping for the walls to steady herself. This is information she is not at all built to process. This is information that is 100% overloading her brain.

She stares at the wall across from her at the framed magazine cover of Layla Connors, popstar extraordinaire and the reason behind Beca’s first grammy. The girl is 20, has legs for days, and is drop dead gorgeous. She can’t really sing or read music and has an outrageously horrific attitude. Beca loathed every minute she spent autotuning and reworking the hell out of that album, knowing that she was the true reason behind Layla’s success.

Of course, _of course_ Layla would be here in some way to witness one of the most devastating moments in Beca’s life.

“…Ms. Mitchell? Are you alright?” By the tone of Dr. Montrose’s voice, Beca gathers that she has zoned out for far too long.

“Yeah I’m just… processing,” her body goes into its most basic form of functioning; leaving Beca feeling cold and numb. “I uh…” She pushes out a breath, uncertain and careless. “How does this work? What am I supposed to do next?”

Dr. Montrose takes mercy on her and softens her tone. “I suggest you come to the hospital as soon as you can. Your stepmother was admitted to the ICU for observation, but your father is… in the morgue. We need you to officially identify him, as your stepmother is unable to do so. You’ll also need to contact a funeral home to arrange for transportation.”

“Oh,” Beca whispers, nodding to the wall. Her Dad's parents are dead, and he's estranged from his only brother. “Yeah. Right. _Of course_ … Is… is Sheila okay?”

“There’s been a lot of swelling on her brain. We placed her in a medically-induced coma in hopes of getting the swelling to go down, but we’ll pull her out in a day or so. In the meantime, her arm fracture has been immobilized. I intend on informing her sister next.”

“Okay, yeah… Good. That’s good… Uh, her sister is a piece of work though, so I’m sorry in advance if she’s super rude.”

“I think I can handle it,” Dr. Montrose states assuredly. “Can I expect you today, Ms. Mitchell?”

“I’ll do my best,” she replies, fuzzily. “Not to be weird, but I’ve been working all night. Can you tell me the time there?”

“It’s just past nine am.” 

“Shit. Yeah, I’ll be out there as soon as I can. I live in LA, so… if you see me today it won’t be until late evening.”

“How about this? Try to get here tomorrow morning around eight-thirty,” she proposes smoothly. “We don’t need you to rush to get here as very little will have changed.”

“Oh… Okay, sure. That… that helps,” Beca sighs. “Thanks Dr. Montrose. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“No problem. This is my work cell phone for when I’m on call, so you may reach me at any time if you have any questions.”

“Got it,” Beca nods, knowing she will do nothing of the sort. She ends the call and slides to the floor, completely bereft. Beca stares at the bare wall across from her, frozen by the news and all the things she needs to do.

She’s not sure how long she stays there, but it’s long enough for Javi to emerge from the studio with Aisha, her publicist and dearest LA friend, in tow. Aisha is almost five years older than Beca, as lithe and beautiful as Stacie, as whipsmart and resourceful as Aubrey, and as creative as Cynthia Rose. She’s fiercely protective and has a mean tiger-mom streak when provoked. She’s also a single mother to Beca’s godson, Julian.

“Beca?” Aisha says softly, her hair still wrapped up in a silk scarf and face bare. She was clearly awoken by Javi to come to the studio. “How can I help?”

Beca looks up at the two of them, feeling close but so distant, like she’s under water. “My Dad… he uh,” she glances down into her lap where her iPhone is clutched tightly. Her voice is tight as she forces out the words, thick on her tongue. “He was in a car accident… he didn’t make it.”

Both Javi and Aisha lean backwards and exchange shocked glances, completely thrown by this news. First to react, Aisha gently places her hand on Beca’s crossed knee. “Beca, I… I don’t…” she lets out an anguished huff. “I am so, so sorry.”

Nodding, Beca bites her bottom lip, still befuddled. Javi, finally catching up, bypasses all Beca’s physical boundaries and ploughs into her with one of his bear hugs. He then presses a kiss to her forehead, murmuring,"Oh, Bebecita". Beca reaches up to place a hand on the arms wrapped around her, and her other hand on Aisha’s and squeezes them tightly.

“I need to get to Atlanta,” Beca says when they pull apart. “They put Sheila in a coma because she’s got head trauma or something.”

Javi and Aisha nod, already assembling plans. Javi stands quickly, “I’ll get you the first direct flight out.”

“Actually, get it for midday, if you can? I still need to pack and everything.”

“How about I call Aubrey and Stacie instead?” Aisha proposes tactfully. “They can pack your bag and we’ll have Uncle Bo pick it up, then swing by and take you to the airport. That way you can rest for a bit.”

Beca owns a home in the Hills and through strange circumstance and opportunity, has made roommates out of Aubrey, Stacie, and Jesse over the past couple years. Beca thinks about this for a moment, then nods. “Okay, but… tell them to hold off on telling anyone else for now? I uh… I just… I can’t.”

“Of course,” Aisha nods. “It’s okay that they tell Jesse though, right?” Though Beca is no longer with Jesse, she finds having him as a roommate to be mutually beneficial for multiple reasons; understanding her better than almost anyone being the most important.

“Sure, yeah. He’ll probably want to come with me,” Beca sighs. “Tell him to hold off though. I just… I just need to get out there. I don’t… need anyone to come with me.”

The pair nod at Beca, then Javi remembers that they’re at work. “Beca, what should I tell Nate and the others? Reschedule?”

“Oh, shit… Damn. _Fuckity_ shit!” Beca drops the back of her head against the wall. “No, don’t tell them anything for now. I’ll tell Nate later. I think… I think I’d rather finish the song we’re working on. My brain feels… funny? Like it’s stuck or something… Maybe if I work on some music I’ll be able to get it to shake out?”

She doesn’t miss the wary glance Javi and Aisha exchange, but they both look back and nod at her kindly. “Sure Beca. I’ll get you on a flight set for midday. Sound good?”

Beca nods to Javi as he walks away on a mission, leaving Aisha behind. “You sure you want to keep working?”

“I… yeah? I just… I can’t wrap my mind around this and all that’s going through my head is the chorus of their song. It’s like I won’t be able to… won’t be able to let this go unless I get it done before I leave,” Beca says softly, still holding Aisha’s hand. “Stay here for a while?”

“Nowhere else I’d rather be, Lil' B,” Aisha replies with a soft smile as she settles beside Beca, placing a kiss on the top of her head. “We’ll get this done and then you can head out to ATL.”

Beca nods her head softly. “You sure you don’t need to get back to Julian?”

“No, he’s with my Pops. Of all the people I represent, I’ve never had a 911 in regards to you — except for the broken glass incident. When Javi called, I was in the car and calling Pops for help before I even realized I was still wearing my pajamas.”

“And yet, you still look amazing,” Beca motions to her beautiful friend. Aisha approached her at _Sound Nightclub_ , during the _Monday Night Social_. Her afro was at full height back then and her dark skin glowed so brightly after dancing all night to Beca’s music. She’d marched up to the DJ booth and told Beca she was going to be her publicist because, “Someone with your skills is going to need someone to protect you.”

They’ve been thick as thieves ever since.

Same thing with Javi. He worked with her at Residual Heat he jumped ship when she got picked up for the LA-based affiliate, Audio Recording and Technology Studios, or ARTS. She would get the same position as a junior producer. When she asked why he wanted to transfer with her, he simply replied: “I know a good thing when I see it; and girl, you got it in spades.”

He’s been her right hand man, even when she had no reason to need one, ever since.

A few minutes later, Beca finally rises and works out her neck. rolling her head from side to side. “I’ll finish the song, then tell the band it’s time to call it a day. We’ll set up for next week, and hopefully they won’t know a thing.”

“Even Nate?” Aisha asks, bumping Beca’s shoulder as they walk toward the studio. “I feel like you two speak on a different wavelength sometimes. He’s def gonna know something’s up.”

“I’ll see,” Beca hums noncommittally. “I’d rather not, though.”

“Do you want me to draft a statement? Local Atlanta news is for sure gonna pick up on this.” Just kidding. It makes national news. 

“Yeah, sounds good,” Beca says as she enters the recording booth and settles heavily into a chair. Aisha takes up post beside her and pulls her laptop out of her bag. The older woman begins picking away at her keyboard as Beca remains still for a couple minutes. She glances over at Aisha and takes a sip of water. “You can change clothes in my office, if you want.”

“I will in a bit. We’ve got more important things to deal with, Lil B,” she runs her index finger over Beca’s wrist affectionately.

Turning to face the booth, Beca takes a breath and exhales. Pressing on a couple buttons, Beca leans into a mic and says,”Alright guys, let’s hear it from the top. The chorus isn’t as tight as I’d like and we still need to rework that one verse.”

She rises from the chair and heads into the studio to finish recording what will eventually become her fifth number-one hit as a producer and first as an artist.

.::.::.::.

Beca trudges through arrivals at the airport, praying that it won’t be too hard to find Chloe. She called the redhead en route to LAX earlier, cognizant that Aubrey had told Chloe the bad news. Chloe was nothing but gentle on the phone. They’d agreed upon the usual pickup location, however Atlanta Hartsfield International isn’t the easiest of airports to get in and out of.

She makes her way to the designated pick up spot, one she’d learned through several visits as a professional, is a spot to get picked up for the inconspicuous. Pushing through the crowd, Beca sees a blur of red and is immediately engulfed in a patented Chloe Beale Hug: full-bodied and all-encompassing. Gradually relaxing after several moments, Beca releases her wheeled bag and reaches around Chloe’s waist, clasping her tightly as she hooks her chin up onto Chloe’s shoulder.

“I love you, so very very veryyyyy much, Becs,” Chloe whispers into her hair, “and I am so sorry this happened. SO sorry.”

Eyes shut, Beca breathes in Chloe’s shampoo and light citrusy floral perfume with a hint of Chloe. The feel of a familiar weight against her, the pressure of a loving embrace, the comforting scent of her best friend. _This_. This is what coming home feels like to Beca.

Little does she know, Chloe is doing the exact same thing, wanting nothing more than to wrap up Beca in her arms and protect her from everything terrible in the world.

“Come on Becs,” Chloe pulls away slowly as she reaches out for Beca’s rolling bag. “Let’s get you home.”

They climb into Chloe’s BMW and quickly get onto the interstate, heading towards Chloe’s townhouse on the outskirts of Atlanta. All Chloe does is silently hand Beca some water and Excedrin, having correctly anticipated Beca’s throbbing headache. Soft notes from the bluesy jazz station fill the solemn air between them. Beca sips the water and downs the pills, feeling the exhaustion of the past 72 hours roll over her in waves.

It’s not until she feels a finger rubbing between her eyebrows that Beca realizes she’s fallen asleep and that they’ve arrived at Chloe’s place. She opens her eyes to see Chloe’s head pressed against her head rest, eyes dark and carefully blank as she retracts her hand from Beca’s brow.

“Wake up sleepy-head,” she whispers.

“Oh jeez,” Beca lets out a huff, frowning. “Sorry, that was rude, I —“

“Don’t worry about it, you’ve got to be exhausted. C’mon let’s get you inside.” Chloe climbs out of her car and collects Beca’s luggage from the trunk.

Beca follows close behind, weakly grabbing at her luggage as they enter the townhouse through the garage door. Chloe toes off her shoes and drops her purse on the entry table, then continues up the stairs to the main level with Beca’s rolling bag. Beca mimics her actions lethargically and climbs the stairs, drawing to a stop at the top when she is met with a grey and white horse surveying her carefully.

“Uh…Chlo?”

“Oh!” Chloe peaks her head out from the top landing and grins. “Sorry! Forgot to introduce you. Beca, meet Gus. Gus, meet Beca.”

Beca holds out the back of her hand for him to inspect. He sniffs a bit more than usual, probably smelling her own three-legged dog, Très. Then he takes another step forward, his head essentially level with Beca’s sternum, waiting for his ears to get scratched. Beca obliges, feeling his warmth and calming presence soothe her. When Chloe returns from the upper level, she’s wearing sweats and holding out a hoodie for Beca to wear. Tugging it over her head, Beca’s new friend Gus watches her every action.

“So, when did you get a great dane?” Beca climbs onto a barstool at the counter in the kitchen, watching as Chloe reaches into the fridge to pull out a bottle of white wine.

“Oh, Gus isn’t mine. Well… not technically,” she grins over at Gus who seems to take offense with a huff. “He’s Jacob’s, but I have him when Jacob has away games or Spring training.” 

“Which means he _is_ your dog,” Beca states as Chloe slides the wine glass over to her. It’s been a hot topic of discussion among the Bella grouptext lately, how often Jacob spends away from home. Not that Beca wants to stir the pot, but… he’s gone a lot.

Disregarding the brunette’s comment with a pointed look, Chloe pushes over the glass of wine and grabs a box of crackers from the pantry. Taking a sip from her glass, Chloe leans against the counter as Gus takes a dutiful seat just outside the designated kitchen space, as though he’s been taught to respect the boundary.

“Gus is a good pupper, though.” Chloe turns and reaches into the fridge to grab him a carrot stick and hands it to him gently. “You’re gonna love him. He’s so long and leggy. Sometimes he looks like a fawn when he gets really excited at the park. Trips over himself and everything.”

Beca glances over at him as she hums into her glass, trying to determine what the spot on his back reminds her of. A star, maybe? A trapezoid with purpose? She’s not sure.

Chloe clears her throat as she sets down her glass, prompting Beca to prepare for _uncomfortable questions._

“When do you need to head over to the hospital?”

“Not too early. Dr. Montrose said Sheila’s still in a uh… medically induced coma, so I can head over in the eight to nine range, I think.” Already predicting the next line of questions, Beca pushes ahead. “Afterward, I’m going to the morgue to… do _The Thing_ and then head near campus to meet with my dad’s lawyer. There’s a will and stuff. Sheila is the executor, so that’ll have to wait. But otherwise I’m not sure of funeral homes or anything like that. I don’t even know where he wants to be buried.”

Beca frowns at her use of the present tense in regards to her Dad, fixing her gaze on the quartz countertop. Chloe dismisses this and does mental calculations, wincing. “Yikes. Even though we have plenty of time, you need to get to bed. We should probably get up around six-thirty to get you to the hospital in a timely manner.”

“You don’t have to come with me you know,” Beca chews her lip as she glances up at Chloe. “I know you have work stuff to do. Last thing I want is —“

A hand pressed gently on her own staves of the rest of the sentence. “I talked to Jessica. She’s got everything covered for the next few days so we’re fine. You’re my priority and nothing else.” Chloe and Jessica co-own Peach Blossom Events, an Event-Coordinating business and are doing very well for themselves. So well, that one of those reality networks has contacted them to film a six-episode season... the jury is still out on that choice, though.

“No, Chlo... That’s too much.”

Chloe fixes Beca with a stern look. “Listen, we’re both tired and you probably want to shower or something, so let’s pretend we spent the last ten minutes arguing over this and then you finally settled on letting me help you because it was easier than going back-and-forth on what will clearly be a futile argument. Besides, you smell like airplane and fatigue.”

“UGH. I _feel_ like airplane and fatigue,” Beca mumbles as she polishes off her glass of wine, then rises to rinse it in the sink. Without saying anything further, she heads to the usual room she stays in when she’s in Atlanta and grabs a change of clothes then goes straight to the shower.

As she’s washing her hair, she wonders for the fifteenth time why she can’t feel anything other than numb. She wonders if she’s in shock, or maybe it just hasn’t hit her yet. Maybe it’s the fact that she hasn’t actually slept in a couple days that’s also the problem. Once again, she hopes she can somehow muster the ability to get a couple hours of sleep tonight.

Insomnia is no one’s friend.

When she emerges from the shower, she expects to find Chloe draped across the bed reading a trashy novel. Instead, Gus is sitting prim and proper at the foot of the bed, an ever-present sentinel. Beca drops her tired clothes in a heap next to her suitcase and goes towards Chloe’s bedroom. The door is cracked, and she can hear voices coming from the bathroom.

“So she’s good, right? I don’t need to catch the next flight out do I?” it’s Aubrey on speakerphone or vidchat and Beca can practically feel her ambivalence through the device.

“Bree, relax. I’ve got this. Beca would have asked you to come with her if she needed help,” Chloe’s voice is muffled, like she’s also brushing her teeth.

There’s a beat of silence that goes on far too long, and Beca can just imagine the disbelieving glare Aubrey is giving her phone at the moment.

“Okay, okay fine,” Chloe relents. “Beca wouldn’t say a thing unless you sat on her and used a crow bar to pry it out of her tiny body, but I swear, she’s fine. Honestly, I don’t think it’s hit her yet.”

“It hasn’t even hit me yet, and I only had him for one semester,” Aubrey says dolefully. “I mean, what the hell!? They were just driving home from the orchestra when they got hit! How does drunk driving still happen!?”

By her increasing volume, Beca can tell Aubrey is teetering on The Edge. As much as she enjoys hearing her roommate reach increasing levels of anxiety, it’s time to intervene. Before she can walk into view, Gus beats her to it, nudging the bedroom door open with his nose and padding over to the bathroom.

“Gus! Stop drinking out of the toilet!” Chloe growls as the toilet lid is dropped. Beca walks into view and spots Chloe scowling at Gus who looks somewhat reprimanded.

“Beca! Hey!” Chloe grins as she spits out the last of her toothpaste. “Bree, Beca’s here. Say hi. I have to pee!”

Chloe quickly turns and enters the tiny water closet, not bothering to shut the door (just like in college). Beca sighs and picks up the phone as Aubrey’s concern practically oozes from the screen.

“Beca? How are you? Did you sleep on the plane? Has Chloe fed you yet? I know you forget to eat when you’re in the studio. Javi was worried —“

“Aubrey?” Beca’s voice is quiet, etched with fatigue. Aubrey’s eyebrows draw together as she quickly grows silent at the rare use of her first name from Beca. “I’m alright. I’m just… I’m just super tired. Chloe’s gonna take good care of me. Don’t worry… How’s my boy?”

“Très is a mopey mess. He won’t leave his spot by the door,” Aubrey replies as she moves through the house, descending the stairs. There’s a clatter of tiny paws on the floor and then Aubrey sits in on the floor, scooping up Très into her lap. He comes into view and Beca’s heart squeezes at the sight of her dog. He’s easily one of the best things that’s ever happened to her. He’s a mutt that she rescued as a wee puppy from a dumpster while on her first tour in Mexico. Scruffy, wiry black hair, an underbite and a lolling tongue quirk upwards as he spots her. He chuffs in excitement, never fully having learned how to bark.

“Hey buddy, how ya doin?” Beca croons into the phone. “You be good for Posen, okay? Sleep with her tonight, you hear me? She’ll keep you nice and warm, bud.”

He tries to lick the screen, but Aubrey pulls it away. She gives Beca a sad smile, hugging Très to her chest tightly.

“I can’t help being worried, Beca…” resuming their discussion.”We’re all worried.”

"I get that. Just trust us, okay?”

“We do, it’s just hard… Stacie, Jesse and I are standing by to get our flights. Javi said he could arrange it for us?”

“Yeah let him handle all of that,” Beca murmurs as she slides to the ground, her back against Chloe’s bed. “You know you don’t have to come out here right? It’s not… you don’t—“

“Beca Mitchell, don’t even finish that sentence. Jesse actually tried to get on a flight tonight, but the studio is booked all day tomorrow for that film he’s working on and he got in quite the argument with one of the execs at the company when he tried to bail.”

“ _Yikes_. Tell Jesse I’ll talk to him soon… once I’ve gotten some sleep,” Beca sighs as Chloe takes a seat beside her, warm with minty fresh breath. She rubs lotion into her skin as Beca leans into her.

“Aubrey,” Chloe leans over, her head pressing into Beca’s. “Beca needs to go to bed. I’ll call you tomorrow, mmmkay?”

Aubrey isn’t fully ready to let go, but cedes the conversation. “Alright. Beca, text me tomorrow. I love you guys!”

“Love you too,” Chloe responds on their behalf, ending the call. They sit in silence for a couple minutes staring at the wall as Gus sprawls out beside them. Chloe reaches over and grabs Beca’s hand, cradling it in her lap. “Do you want to sleep in here with me?”

Beca frowns for a moment, contemplating. “No, I should be good. Besides, you kick too much. Don’t want a foot to the shin or anything.” Beca squirms away when Chloe tries to dig her finger into Beca’s side.

“Very funny, Becs. At least I don’t talk in my sleep.” Chloe watches as Beca rises slowly, stiff and sore.

“Yeah well, there are worse problems,” she mutters, holding out her hand to help Chloe stand. Immediately, Beca is wrapped in another embrace, this one gentler and somehow, tighter.

“You know I’m going to end up in your bed sooner or later, right?” Chloe murmurs into Beca’s damp hair.

“Just don’t hog all the blankets, okay?” Beca could easily fall asleep right there, standing against Chloe.

“Deal.”

Beca feels the soft press of Chloe’s lips against her temple before she pulls away and heads toward the guest room, leaving the door cracked, just because. A few minutes later, she hears Chloe’s voice again, but assumes this time, she’s talking with her boyfriend.

Not more than ten minutes after she’s climbed into bed, the door nudges open, but instead of Chloe, it’s Gus. He walks to the side of the bed Beca is on and places his head on the mattress, his tail wagging gently as he sniffs her hair.

“Gus,” Beca sighs loudly, turning on her side to face him. “Lie down, Gus.”

As ordered, he places his paws on the mattress, then climbs over Beca and plops down to press the length of his back against hers. She may or may not let out an inhuman squeak as he does this; his large body looming over her, but she assumes that he doesn’t mind her sheepishness. Were she less tired, she’d dispute his claim to the other side of the bed, but it’s his lucky night because she falls asleep in less than two minutes.

The next time she wakes, the bedside clock reads 2:47 and she’s spooning the damn dog, his long limbs hanging over the side of the bed. She’s uncertain what it was that woke her, but she drifts back to sleep. The last time its only twenty minutes later, but to the feel of Chloe climbing in behind her, reaching over Beca to press her palm to Gus’s head as she settles in against Beca’s back.

Beca lets out a soft sigh and quickly falls back asleep.

.::..::.::.

When her alarm goes off several hours later, Beca is incredibly disoriented. She has a head full of red hair in her face and feels the warm puffs of air from Gus breathing behind her, his head pressed against her neck. Beca is curled around Chloe’s right arm, her leg slung over Chloe’s right thigh as though she were a body pillow instead of a human. Squinting, Beca reaches over Chloe and grabs her phone on the bedside table, tapping snooze as she settles back into the comfort of those around her.

Glancing once at Chloe who is flat on her back, her other arm tucked in the blankets, her occupied hand clutching Beca’s leg that’s thrown over her. Beca would think more of it if she hand’t woken up in more incredibly compromising situations than this with Chloe over the years. The worst was the Nearly Naked Night, but neither of them have acknowledged it, so locked in the dungeon of her memory it shall remain.

Beca settles in for eight more minutes of sleep, secretly hoping her phone won’t remember how to alert her of the time. Snuggling deep into the covers, she rests her forehead against Chloe’s shoulder and quickly falls back asleep.

Twenty minutes later, she awakes to Gus pouncing around on the bed, clearly excited about his morning treat: aka Breakfast. Chloe must have gotten up before then, because her side is empty.

“Gus, go away,” Beca murmurs, but he doesn’t hear her, so excited is his jumping. A couple minutes later, Beca finally rises from the bed and follows an excited Gus downstairs to the kitchen, where he happily demolishes his meal.

Beca climbs onto a barstool as Chloe silently slides a cup of black coffee over to her. They continue their morning in relative silence, the only conversation detailing how well each of them slept: “Fine, except when you kicked me in the shin half way through the night,” Beca grouses.

“Oh, but your drooling on my pillow and grabby hands are nothing to speak of?” Chloe smirks, as she picks two bananas and hands one to Beca. They grin at each other then eat their fruit in silence as they finish the rest of their coffee.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” Chloe says as she tosses the banana peel in the trash. “Meet you back down here in thirty?”

Beca nods, sipping her coffee as she finishes her banana slowly, watching as Chloe climbs the stairs. She decides to take another shower and follows shortly thereafter, meeting Chloe in the living room a little bit more than thirty minutes later.

“I think we should go see his lawyer after the hospital so we can check to see where he wants to be buried,” Beca proposes. “It’s not something we ever discussed in a formal manner.”

“Oh, but in a non-casual manner?” Chloe follows as Beca leads the way down to her garage.

“He always joked that he wanted me to have him cremated and then scatter his ashes on every continent.”

“Wow. And I thought my mom was crazy with her wish to be buried near the University of Florida football field.”

“Your mom was a cheerleader. Your dad was a football player… makes sense.” Beca straps in while Chloe backs out of the driveway. “My Dad just wants to travel to every continent because he’s always been limited by budget and means. I’ve brought him to South America and Europe for tours, but he still needs everything else.”

“Sounds like you’ve got yourself a task,” Chloe says as she shifts her car into fourth gear, accelerating along the road and she maneuvers towards the chaotic interstate. “Are you gonna wait to see what the lawyer says?”

Beca stares out the window, trying her best to disassociate herself from the current situation. “Yeah, I guess.”

Chloe picks up on her solemn tone and smartly turns up the volume on her playlist, curated by Beca over a month ago.

.::.::.::.

“Ms. Mitchell, it’s nice to meet you,” says Dr. Montrose, a tall African-American woman with shrewd eyes who probably should have played for the WNBA instead of becoming a trauma surgeon. Maybe she did both? Beca shakes her hand as the woman scans her carefully, as though searching for signs of distress.

“Thanks. It’s Beca, though… Just… Beca.” Beca replies stiffly. “I uh… I wanted to say thank you for being so great on the phone yesterday. I… was super sleep deprived, so I apologize for anything stupid I said.”

Dr. Montrose glances at Beca, giving her a smile that says more about caring than professionalism. “Not a problem, Ms… Beca. I understand you’d like to see your Stepmother?”

“Yes. If that’s okay?” Beca replies, glancing back at Chloe who’s seated in the waiting room, hands in her lap and legs crossed primly like a freaking debutante.

“Of course,” Dr. Montrose says as she scans her badge against a card reader, permitting them access onto the floor. “Her sister was here most of the evening. I expect she’ll be in shortly.”

“Yeah… I’d like to get out of here before she shows up,” Beca says quietly as they walk along the corridor. “I’m not sure if Debbie grilled you, but the woman could pass as a drill instructor.”

“Yes. I experienced just as much,” says Dr. Montrose as they reach Sheila’s door in the ICU. “I figured it was a typical response to having a loved one in the hospital, though.”

“No, she’s like that all the time,” Beca says as she pushes into the room and stops at the threshold. Dr. Montrose remains outside at a desk nearby, watching quietly.

Sheila is lying supine in the bed; motionless with a ventilator making her breathe through the tube inserted in her mouth. There is IV tubing and an assortment of bags hanging, but Beca isn’t sure what they mean. She absently wishes she’d brought Stacie with her; the PH.D. candidate is a freaking savant and can learn anything in the span of hours. She’d know what to think of this whole situation.

Instead, Beca pads quietly into the room and rounds the hospital bed, tentatively reaching out to grasp Sheila’s hand. It’s cool as expected, but otherwise there’s no activity. Beca finds that she hates the lack of response. The one phrase that comes to mind whenever she thinks of Sheila is ‘touchy-feely’. She’s the complete opposite of her mom which Beca feels was completely deliberate on her dad’s part.

Beca stands quietly for a couple minutes as she watches Sheila breathe with the help of the machine. Her injured arm is immobilized and a few scratches on her face and scalp mar her features. Otherwise, she looks somewhat okay. Beca wonders if her Dad is going to look as… normal as Sheila. After a couple more minutes, Beca decides to take her leave and walks to Dr. Montrose at the counter.

“Will you call me when they pull her out of the uh… the coma?”

“Of course,” Dr. Montrose, nods swiftly. “Based on her vitals and a couple other things, we’ll probably wake her tomorrow. After that, we’ll see how she checks out.”

“Okay,” Beca replies softly, suddenly feeling forlorn. “Can I leave her a note? Just in case you guys change your mind? I mean… I’ll come back tomorrow morning, but still…”

“Notes are great,” Dr. Montrose says as she hands a pad of paper and a pen over to Beca. “Take your time. I’ll be dictating at the desk in the alcove behind you.”

Beca stands at the counter for a couple minutes, thinking about what she wants to say, but she keeps coming up blank. Ultimately, she bypasses words altogether and scribbles two blackbirds on a tree branch, watching as another flies away. _Blackbird_ , by The Beatles, is Sheila’s favorite song.

When Beca meets up with Chloe in the waiting area, she grabs her hand and holds tight, all the way to the car.

.::.::.::.

Later that night, they’re both eating Chinese takeout and Beca feels drained, emotionally and physically. The stop by the morgue was brief and mentally scarring, but Beca did her best to take it in stride. She’d wanted to reach out and run her finger along his hand, but stopped herself, knowing she’d remember how he felt and that wasn’t something she wanted a memory of.

Then, they went to the lawyer and then the funeral home, which was was the worst part because it was so morbid. She’s never considered where she’d like her eternal corpse to remain, but some humid plot in Georgia isn’t the top of her list.

Come to find out, her Dad wasn’t joking. He really wanted to be cremated and have his ashes scattered on all seven continents.

“No way am I going to Antarctica,” Beca sighs as she takes another bite of her extra spicy Kung Pao Chicken. “Sheila can do that one. He didn’t specify _who_ had to scatter him.”

“Are you sure it’s not something he wanted you two to do together?”

Beca holds up a chopstick and glares at Chloe. “Now don’t be hasty, Beale. Though we get along a lot better nowadays, that doesn’t mean I am in any way prepared to do an around-the-world adventure with her. Come to think of it, there is no one I’d want to do that with.”

Chloe gasps. “Not even me!?”

“Eh… probably not? We’ve only been on like… one road trip.”

“Au contraire mon frère,” Chloe shoots back, tossing her fortune cookie at Beca, who dodges it. “You came home with me during spring break your sophomore year, and then we went to visit Cynthia Rose up in Maine with Ashley and Flo that summer between your junior and senior years.”

“Oh, yeah,” Beca nods, having completely blacked-out that trip due to various reasons. “I distinctly recall you getting us lost. _Twice_.”

“That’s because google maps hadn’t updated and they built that new neighborhood in the meantime!”

“No… that was when you were experimenting with Apple Maps, and we all regretted it,” Beca gives Chloe a doubtful look then shakes her head. “Eh, better pass on you Beale. I’ll probably do this project on my own time, in my own way.”

Chloe opens her mouth to reply, but is stopped by her phone vibrating on the coffee table. Beca can see Jacob’s face pop up as Chloe reaches for it. While Chloe takes the call, Beca shrugs and grabs their plates and leftover cartons and cleans up their mess. Though she can hear Chloe talking softly, Beca can’t help but feel that now familiar pang of jealousy as they continue to speak.

See, the thing is, Beca is in love with Chloe. Ass over teakettle in love. _Heart eyes._ The works. She has been for over a year now, maybe longer. It’s why she’s been single for so long. It’s also why she is currently biding her time before dropping that news on Chloe, hoping that she and the baseball player aren’t meant to be. Unfortunately, they’ve been dating for about 11 months and are still going strong.

Not that she wishes ill-will toward Jacob or for her friend to experience any heartache in regards to her current love, but Beca was thisclose to telling Chloe last summer how she felt. Then Chloe showed up to a Bella reunion full of smiles, informing them that she’d been dating Jacob Lundergen, center outfielder for the Braves. They met at a charity event that Chloe coordinated and after two dates, they were practically living together.

To say it crushed Beca is putting it lightly.

Now, though? She’s accepted the relationship for the most part. She’s even amicable towards the tall, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, handsome man. He was basically cut from Adonis. _Ugh_.

It doesn’t mean she has to like the situation.

Beca doesn’t need to listen to Chloe murmur sweet nothings into her cellphone while Beca contemplates what she wants to do for her father’s funeral service. She fills her glass with sparkling water and heads to her room, Gus close on her heels. She climbs onto the bed with her laptop and grins as the dog flops gracelessly beside her, clearly enamored with his new friend.

There’s a whole list of things Beca needs to do, but a lot of it, she can’t accomplish until Sheila wakes up. Things like: what day to hold the service; what types of flowers to have; should they have people come back to the house or do it at a banquet hall? Fortunately, she can assume that her dad would want the funeral service at Barden’s Chapel. He’s always been a fan of it’s stained glass and gargoyles. She knows it’s because there’s one that’s shaped like Darth Vader, similar to the one at the National Cathedral. She also figures Sheila will want people to come to the house afterward for those who want to say all the sad things that people say at these things.

Actually, Beca can make all the decisions. She just wants Sheila to be okay with them as well. Maybe her sister will step-in and help out.

Beca spoke with her mom earlier that morning and to say the conversation hadn’t gone well was an understatement. It’s no secret that Beca’s mom, Elizabeth, and her dad didn’t part on the best of terms. Throughout college, Beca worked towards them having a reconciliation, but things never got past frostily amicable. Beca blames her Mom for this because her Dad definitely tried to extend an olive branch on multiple occasions. A year ago, they finally met up for a somewhat congenial meal on Beca’s birthday, but the underlying tension remained and made Beca’s raspberry chocolate mousse taste like bitterness and despair.

Granted, her Dad was also the one who walked out. It forced them to give up their home and move into a tiny, shitty two-bedroom apartment all those years ago.

When Beca asked if her Mom was going to come to the funeral, Elizabeth swiftly and succinctly replied, “I don’t think that’s a great idea.” Nothing else was said, and no matter how hard Beca tried, her mom would hear nothing of it.

She’s going to try again tomorrow though, hopefully having a day to think on it will soften her mom’s stance. Hopefully.

Nearly an hour later of solid work, Beca can still hear Chloe on the phone, chatting away. She has no idea what the woman finds to talk about, but she’s definitely great at it. She’s even lured Beca into an hour-long conversation on occasion. Still, Beca doesn’t have it in her to get up and say goodnight to Chloe, probably cozied up on her couch with a dumb grin on her face talking to her dumb boyfriend about dumb things.

Instead, Beca brushes her teeth, washes her face, and changes into her pajamas. Shutting off the lights, she crawls into bed and lets out a deep sigh. The entire day felt as if it was in slow motion and as she mentally reviews everything, she still has difficulty fully grasping what has happened.

A couple minutes later, she feels Gus climb into bed and snuggle up beside her, letting out a sigh that mirrors her own.

The following morning when Beca wakes suddenly at four, she finds Chloe curled up next to her. She can barely see Chloe in the darkness of the room, but she can feel her breathing and can hear the soft puffs of air she exhales. Slowly, Beca reaches out her hand to run a finger along Chloe’s forehead and curls it under her jaw, the corner of Beca’s mouth creeping upward when Chloe sighs into her touch.

Beca falls asleep again, but only briefly. The next time she wakes, she rises and climbs over Gus, then heads downstairs to make breakfast and a pot of coffee. When Chloe emerges an hour later, hair mussed and cheeks pink from sleep, Beca tries her very best to ignore the pang in her chest that tells her that _this could be your life, if only you’d speak up_.

No, she takes the safe way out. She nudges over a latte in Chloe’s direction and pulls out a plate of blueberry waffles that were warming in the oven, taking the woman’s blissful hum as thanks.

Beca turns to head upstairs to prepare for hopefully her last trip to the hospital. The plan is to pull Sheila out of the coma, and to finalize the plans for her dad’s funeral. She’s saving a couple decisions for Sheila, but Beca feels the woman doesn’t need too much stress right now. Hopefully, just hopefully, pulling her out of the coma won’t be as terrible as Beca predicts it will be.

.::..::.::.

It was worse. _So much worse_. The woman was combative at first, then incredibly confused and agitated as the drugs wore off. When finally she settled down, Dr. Montrose and one of the ICU doctors had to break the news to her regarding what happened.

Beca doesn’t ever want to hear that kind of heartbreaking sobbing, _ever_ again.

It was like a low, mournful wailing that went on for nearly an hour. Even Sheila’s sister, Debbie, had to step outside to take a breather. As someone who has never really cared for Beca, Debbie has been unusually kind at this stressful time. Beca suspects it has something to do with the fact that she offered to foot the bill for the insurance deductible and funeral arrangements, but enjoys this so-called truce for the time being. Together, they ended up making the last of the decisions, feeling confident that Sheila’s grief is too much to process anything else at the moment.

Chloe gets called away on a work emergency half-way through the day, apologizing profusely as she leaves Beca at the hospital for several hours. Beca spends most of this time struggling with navigating her emotions. She’s still numb, but anger — cool and insidious— is starting to creep in and she’s not sure what to do with that.

So, she walks all around the large facility, then takes a seat in a quiet courtyard and responds to several messages from Aisha and Javi. Fortunately, most of it is work-related, which is a welcome reprieve from what she’s currently dealing with.

She has an exhausting phone call with Jesse and Aubrey, both of whom plan on flying out with Stacie the day before the funeral which will probably occur in three days time. Jesse also informs Beca that Stacie is considering moving out because she is allergic to the seventeen bouquets of flowers that have been delivered to their home since Beca left.

“Tell Stacie to suck it up and take a zyrtec,” Beca sighs into her phone, scrubbing her face with her palms. Her phone buzzes, informing her that she has another incoming call. “Listen guys, I’ve gotta go, someone’s on the other line.”

“Okay Beca,” says Aubrey sadly. “Call us if you need anything.”

“Yeah Bec, let me know,” Jesse agrees. “See you in a couple days.”

Beca signs off and opens the next conversation with an apology, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“Why the fuck did you stay with us you idiot?” Nate starts, sounding one part hurt and the other part exasperated. “I can’t believe you finished the song with us and didn’t say a thing!” His bluster runs out and he quickly turns to concerned. “How are you? Numb? Exhausted?”

“I just wanted to get the song done, nothing more to be said about that,” Beca shrugs to no one. “And yeah, _numb_ is the appropriate word for it.”

“Yeah, it’ll hit you… at the worst time, or when you least expect it.”

“ _Awesome_. Is this the part where I have to embrace the misery?”

“Yeah,” he hums, “basically. It’s gonna suck no matter what you do… for months.”

“Looking forward to it.” Beca recrosses her leg and plays with the hem of her sweater. She casts her gaze around and lets out a soft sigh, like a secret. “I’m scared.”

Her confession hangs in the static air between them and she can feel the vulnerability coming off her in waves. It’s absolutely terrible and she wants nothing of it.

But if there is anyone who can take her moment of weakness in stride, it’s Nate. Their roles were reversed this time last year and it was tough. He’s always been such a happy-go-lucky kind of guy, but the loss of his brother hit Nate hard and he didn’t handle it well at all, falling into drugs and alcohol to ease the pain. Beca was one of the only people who could eventually get through to him. Together, they got him clean and sober, and he’s been on a steady climb back to his old self, ever since.

“That’s normal,” he finally replies, his voice somber. “Confusion and that weird sensation of constantly being lost are right up there as well.”

“Yeah? Well… it can stop.”

“Just feel the way you feel Beca. Trying to bottle it up won’t do you any favors.”

“But that’s what I do best! And then I explode in anger six months later and become my own worst enemy.”

“Exactly… So don’t do it.”

“Screw you!” Beca scowls at nothing.

“Love you too, kid,” he says with what she feels is a grin, even though she can’t see him. “Listen, I have to meet with Dom tomorrow. Was wondering if you wanted to grab lunch.”

“What, like here in Atlanta?”

“Yeah, he and I are talking about a collaboration. I’ll be in town for a couple days.”

Beca is instantly suspicious.“Strange that you didn’t mention this impromptu meeting last week when we spent every waking moment together.”

“Yeah, it’s just come up,” he says nonchalantly, but she can see right through him.

“I don’t need you to come check up on me. I’m not a child.”

“No, you’re not. You are one of my best friends,” he replies swiftly. “I really am meeting with Dom. But I want to see you too. How about we meet up at the studio around noon tomorrow, if you’re free?”

Beca rolls her eyes like a petulant teenager. “Ugh. Fine. Just… text me or whatever. Sheila should be going home late today, so I’ll just be handling odds and ends in the morning. I can meet you near the studio.”

“Sounds good,” he says softly. “Need me to bring anything? Your dog, perhaps?”

Beca’s heart squeezes at the thought of Très. “As much as I’d love to have him with me, adding a dog to this mix of insanity is a terrible idea. Thanks though.”

“No worries. I’ll text you when I’m free, okay?”

“Yup. Have a good afternoon,” Beca replies, ready to be off the phone.

“Later.”

Beca remains outside for a while longer, letting the cold winter air seep into her bones before returning inside. Beca hangs out with a disconsolate Sheila for a while. She’s not fully ready to broach the subject of all The Uncomfortable Things, so she squeezes the Sheila's hand, then takes her leave. Debbie and Beca make arrangements to meet at her Dad’s house in the morning to select the suit he’ll wear for the funeral service.

Beca makes her way to the front of the hospital, prepared to call an Uber, when Chloe approaches hastily, looking somewhat frazzled.

“Woah, what’s up?”

Chloe’s lips form a thin line as she grabs Beca’s hand and leads her to a sidewalk shielded with large shrubbery. “I’m not sure how, but I think some media have figured out you’re here.”

Beca frowns. “What makes you say that?”

“There were two news trucks parked on the main street and there’s a guy posted up on the corner with a long-range lens attached to a camera.”

Sighing, Beca drops Chloe’s hand and stops for a minute. The media/paparazzi is something she’s come to accept in the past few years as she's become more well-known. The first time was a rather surreal experience in an IKEA, but she got over it. She ignores them for the most part. Occasionally Beca will mess around with them, but largely, she doesn’t bother to hide her annoyance. It’s essentially public surveillance, and it creeps her out.

“Let’s just go,” Beca continues past Chloe, heading towards the garage as Chloe turns to keep up. “Sorry about all this. I didn’t really think it would happen anywhere else.”

“Well… I hate to break it to you,” Chloe says in a foreboding tone, “but when a top-ten artist has a tragedy, the press loves nothing more than to talk about it… A lot…”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Chloe cringes as she climbs the stairs to the second level with Beca. “It means that perhaps the news has picked up on the fact that you’re here in Atlanta, and that the radio station played your single then proceeded to talk about how terrible this situation is for like… five minutes.”

“Awesome,” Beca snaps as they reach Chloe’s BMW and climb inside. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to recline the seat. We don’t need them following you back to your house.”

“That’s a thing?! That they do? Follow you home?”

“How do you think the rumors of me being a lesbian emerged? It wasn’t because I was making out with a chick on the dance floor,” Beca scowls as she buckles her seatbelt. “It was because a chick left my house at six in the morning. Disregard the fact that it was Stacie going for a run.”

“Yeah but… making out on the dance floor is a thing… that you’ve done…” Chloe drives slowly through the garage.

“Hey, I was super drunk, and it only happened that one time in Cabo… besides, no one caught it on camera!” Beca growls in exasperation as she recalls her brief stint with hard-core partying. It didn't turn out well for her. “Not only that, but I made out with an equally attractive guy no more than ten minutes later.”

“Yes, congratulations, you’re bisexual,” Chloe sighs in a placating manner as she takes a right and draws to a halt at a stop light. “Speaking of, I heard there was something going on with you and Nate.”

“Nate?” Beca swivels to Chloe, brow arched. “That is one hundred percent not a thing. He’s dating a supermodel right now. An actual Victoria’s Secret Model. Besides, I’m still friends with his ex-wife. I feel like it’s bad juju to get caught in the middle.”

“Yeah, but…” Chloe shrugs, looking at Beca like she knows something Beca doesn’t. “It’s Nate. He obviously adores you.”

“That’s because I make him millions of dollars.” Beca pulls her seat back upright as they pull onto the interstate. “That, and we’re really good at making music together.”

“Still…” Chloe glances at Beca, an inquisitive set to her features, “you two _would_ be good together, you have to admit.”

“Yeah and Aubrey and Stacie would be good together too, but we never bring that up either,” Beca says stiffly. “Let’s drop this for now, okay? It’s been a rough day.”

Rolling her eyes, Chloe nods dutifully, letting Beca fiddle with the stations until she finds one that’s playing heavy rock. Chloe’s not much of a fan, but Beca needs something loud and angry. 

.::.::.::.

When they get home, Beca makes some noncommittal responses regarding dinner, then disappears upstairs. She returns minutes later wearing her running clothes.

One of the weirdest and most jarring things that’s happened over the years is that Beca has taken to running as a form of stress relief.Granted, she was initially coerced into running a few years ago by the mainliner of a tour she was on. Still, there are many other reasons why she does it; number one is that if she runs hard enough, it’ll exhaust her and hopefully the insomniac will get some sleep.

Either way, Chloe still finds it strange, knowing how much Beca abhors the activity, but does it because so much of her life requires her to look fit at all times. Heaven forbid she take a month off and live off twinkles and mac and cheese.

“You heading out?” Chloe surveys Beca in her running tights and long sleeved pullover, fiddling with her headphones. Chloe averts her gaze, trying her best not to let her eyes linger on Beca’s… well-toned features.

“Yeah,” Beca replies as she messes with her phone, searching for her running playlist. “How far is the loop you usually run? The one by that park?”

“Around four miles?” Chloe squints at the clock on the wall, biting her lip. “Want me to come with you? It’ll be dark soon.”

“Nah, I’m good,” Beca shoves in her earphones and makes a hasty exit. Chloe takes in the silence of her home and finds that she doesn’t care for it much. That’s nothing new, but something about having Beca here makes it much more habitable, even if it’s under these circumstances. Then again, being around Beca always makes things more bearable for Chloe.

Needing to be productive, Chloe goes into her home office and takes care of some work for half an hour. She then heads to the kitchen to make spaghetti and puts together a small salad. She finds herself checking the clock with increasing frequency, growing concerned. Before she can text Beca to ask her whereabouts, Aubrey calls and they have a ten minute conversation to get some updates.

Nearly an hour after Beca left, the garage door opens and shuts quietly. Chloe, clad in her pajamas and suitably concerned/irritated, leans over the railing to watch as Beca leans the back of her head against the door, breathing heavily, eyes shut. Her grey shirt is soaked through and her hair is wild in it’s pony tail. She’s flushed and sweaty and breathing heavy, which Chloe finds unbearably sexy. Not that Beca needs to know that.

Beca toes off her sneakers and turns to the stairs, making her way up gingerly. She walks straight to the sink and fills up a glass of water, downing it quickly then following it up with another. She fills her glass for a third time, turning to Chloe as she works to regulate her breathing.

“Smells good,” Beca offers, ignoring Chloe’s nonplussed look.

“Thanks,” Chloe huffs, turning to the stove to stir the pot of simmering homemade spaghetti sauce. “How far did you go? You were gone for a while.”

Beca glances at her smartwach where it registered her mileage, shrugging, “7.97 miles. You were right about that loop, it’s nearly a four-miler.”

“You ran it twice!?” Chloe turns quickly to Beca. “I didn’t think you ran that fast.”

“I normally don’t… Just have a lot on my mind,” Beca offers up as reasonable logic. Beca can run, but she isn’t fast. At least, she wasn’t a couple years ago when they’d gone for a jog while vacationing at the beach. Chloe feels that cutting a seven-minute mile indicates just how stressed Beca’s been, but decides to remain mum. Beca drinks one more glass and then sits on the floor to stretch. “I’ll take a shower real quick and then we can eat?”

Chloe nods, carefully watching Beca out of the corner of her eye, looking for signs of distress. Beca’s never been great at asking for help, so Chloe’s learned to take a more proactive approach when it comes to the younger woman. As much as she’d love to barrel through Beca’s painstakingly constructed walls, Chloe takes her time, reveling in the process.

Beca returns from her shower, looking fresh and way too young, her damp hair twisted up on her head and face bare. The sight of Beca still wearing Chloe’s hoodie sends a warm zing through her, pleased that it gives Beca comfort. She slides into her seat across from Chloe and shifts her lips upwards in the semblance of a smile, but it’s weak. They start eating quietly, the silence somewhat stilted.

“Remember when you first got to LA and started working at the studio?” She continues when Beca nods, looking up at Chloe. “Remember how you were so broke those first few months, that you had to spin at crappy clubs and bartend just so you could pay your rent? And when you finally bought that used jeep, you bought a cupcake with the last five dollars in your account, just to celebrate?”

“If reveling in my previous financial woes is supposed to be some morbid pep-talk —“

“But you worked really hard, right? No matter how hard it got, you were the first in and the last to leave, you were relentless. You still suffered through working with those terrible artists. You saved and saved and saved, until you could get out of that crappy studio apartment, you sucked it up when Barry got promoted before you, you even… you even made it through your Mom having breast cancer. And you kept your promise and still talked to me, even when you didn’t want to.”

Remaining quiet, Beca nibbles on her lip, twirling the pasta with her fork. This conversation is reminiscent of the one they had when Chloe first drove Beca to the airport before she moved to LA five years ago. Thinking back, her other finger traces the stem of the wine glass, absently tapping out a beat.

Chloe reaches out slowly and runs her index finger along Beca’s, causing the other woman to still her movements. “You’ve made it through so much, Beca. _So much_. And this is going to be terrible. It’s going to hurt and it’s going to be really…” Chloe lets out a puff of air as her throat tightens, “ _really_  hard. But I want you to know that I am going to be here. Whether it’s four weeks or four months or four years from now, I’m going to be here for you. So please, please don’t shut me out. Okay?”

Looking up from their fingers, Beca releases her lip with a shuddering breath and nods slowly at first. “Promise?”

“I promise, Beca,” Chloe says emphatically. “ _No matter what.”_

.::.::.::.

The following morning, Beca spends selecting her Dad’s suit and pouring over books in his office where she discovers an unpublished book of poetry that he wrote years ago. She loses track of time, devouring every page like a waif on the streets.

Afterward, she meets up with Nate for lunch on this unseasonably warm day. She slides into the seat facing the large outdoor seating area just beside Nate. It’s not that she’s paranoid, but she’s never been a fan of people sneaking up on her. Besides, she gets to people-watch as well, so it’s a win-win.

She ignores Nate’s scrutiny as she takes a sip from her iced black coffee, choosing to let him determine for himself if she is in fact, okay.

“Dom thinks he might be able to get a track ready in time for the album release,” Nate begins, smartly choosing to table the discussion of her well-being for later.

“Dom is a great producer. He’s rarely wrong when it comes to stuff like that,” Beca glances at Nate briefly. “When are you gonna do it?”

“I’ll be here until Friday. Probably pull an all-nighter. It’s going to be more of a bluesy track than anything else. Tex might come out too… play the drums.”

They discuss the song and collaboration in further detail, ironing out specifics and where it’ll fit on the upcoming album. Their lunch arrives but Beca finds that her appetite isn’t what it usually is and picks at her turkey sandwich. Nate snags a few fries off her plate, but doesn’t force her to eat or any such nonsense.

“So uh… the funeral is tomorrow?” Nate asks quietly when Beca zones out, lightly tapping a finger on her wrist in a familiar way. He’s always been good about that, knowing when and how to touch Beca so that doesn’t overwhelm her.

She places her other arm on the table and rests her head against her fist, looking at Nate as she speaks, “Yeah. Sheila’s sister, Debbie, took her home from the hospital last night. Sheila would rather stay at her sister’s right now than uh… at home. “

“Makes sense. Got everything lined up then?”

Beca puffs out a sigh and nods. “Yeah. Sheila agreed that it’d be best to have the service at the University Chapel. Apparently a lot of the student body wants to attend. I took care of the details yesterday.”

“Nice. You’ve definitely been busy.”

“Yeah well… Anyway, if you… uh, if you wanna come, you know…” She averts her eyes, focusing on the pickle spear that’s still on his plate. “To the uh, to the…” She stops fumbling when Nate reaches out and lays his hand over hers.

“I’d be honored to come to the funeral. Just let me know when,” he says softly. His eyes are so warm and so brown and so very kind. She’s always thought he looked a lot like a shorter version of Zachary Levi. His smile? Ugh. It’s not fair being that attractive.

Beca nods and turns away, coughing to cover her wave of awkwardness. Nate squeezes her hand once and lets go, leaning back into his chair as he clears his throat. He takes a long sip of his tea and looks back at Beca.

“So… there’s a thing that I’ve been meaning to speak with you about… something that I was going to bring up the other day, but time got away from us.”

Beca turns to him, her curiosity piqued at his display of uncharacteristic awkwardness. “Go on…”

“Well… the Grammy’s are on Sunday.”

“Yes, I’m well aware.” Beca hasn’t made up her mind yet if she’s attending.

“And you know how we’re preforming?”

Beca nods at him slowly, wondering where he’s going with this. “Yes. I was there when they invited you to perform, dummy.”

“And you know how we’re going to play our two biggest singles from our last album?

“Yes…”

“So the problem is that one of those singles is the duet with Kelly…” he states, waiting for Beca to pick up on the conundrum. She squints for a moment and then makes a face.

“Oh… and she’s literally about to have her baby at any moment…” Beca nods in understanding, seeing his dilemma. “Have you tried Hayley?”

He nods, frowning, “She’s on tour in Singapore.”

“What about uh…Demi?”

“She’s already performing… and she’s not on the label. You know how weird they get about that stuff.”

“Selena?”

“On tour.”

“Gwen?”

“Not the right fit.”

“Shit, man, stop shooting down all my ideas!” Beca smacks him on the arm, exasperated. “Okay… what about… what about Pink!?Yes… PINK!?”

“Also performing a duet with… Bruce Springsteen and uh…” he scratches his head and crinkles his eyebrows, perturbed, “I think with that kid who won American Idol last year.”

“Oh, ew. The Justin Bieber wannabe?” Beca frowns at the thought. “Terrible idea. Pink and Bruce deserve way better than that.”

“I said the same thing!” Nate agrees. “So anyway, we were all coming up with possible substitutes and one name kept popping up… over and over again.”

Beca turns to him, eyes narrowed at his tone. “Okay…”

“So… you did help write the song…”

“Nate!” Beca gasps. “No!”

“—And you produced it…”

“Absolutely not!”

“And you even arranged most of it…”

“No Sir, negative, huh uh.” Beca leans back in her chair, admonishing him as she shakes her head vehemently. “No way, no how. You _know_ better, Nate!”

“Beca you’re our only option!”

“No… I’m the only one that’s available in a pinch, because I’m not awesome enough,” Beca shoots back, scowling. “Face it, Nate, I am not a good fit for that song either. What you and Kelly did? _Amazing_. With me there? People will wonder how they let the riff-raff in. Not only that, but Beyoncé is going to be at the Grammys this year! _BE-YONC-É_!”

“Yes, I am familiar, Bec,” he replies soothingly, letting Beca get her rant out of her system.

She leans forward and whispers in a pseudo-menacing manner. “Remember the last time I had to perform at an awards show?” She waits for a brief second. “Yeah, me neither! Because I NEVER HAVE.”

“Becaaaaaaa,” he sing-songs, hoping her tightly bundled fury will die down. “You literally just sang on a track with us… four days ago. You know you can do this. I know you can do this. Just…” he lets out a breath and looks back at her, quirking his lip and making his stupid dimple show. Damn that stupid dimple. “Just think about it.”

Beca scowls at him and crosses her arms, stewing for a solid five minutes while he quietly sips his iced tea and watches passersby. She mentally assembles a quick pro-con list and finds that sadly, the pros far outweigh the cons. Assuming she doesn’t screw up, that is. Odds of her screwing up are substantially high, because… Beyoncé. Shit... aren't Stevie Nicks and Bonnie Rait going to be there for their Lifetime Achievement Awards? Oh this is such a terrible idea.

“How many rehearsals are there?” Beca inquires begrudgingly, trying to ignore the way his entire face lights up at her question. Instead of responding he reaches over and gives her a sideways hug, vibrating with excitement.

“Holy shit, Becs, this is going to be amazing!!! YOU are going to be amazing! I can’t believe—“

“Woah woah woah,” Beca holds out her hands to stop him. “Slow your roll, mister man. It was a serious question. I’m not coming home until… Friday Morning…”

“Oh… uh… we’d have official rehearsal at the venue like Saturday afternoon, I believe.”

“So you want me to fly back, practice with you on Friday, rehearse at the venue on Saturday, and then perform on Sunday?”

Nate takes in her words and registers how outrageous the idea truly is, frowning with a furrowed brow. “Yeah, this is crazy, isn’t it?”

“A bit,” Beca nods in agreement. He leans his elbows on the table, running his fingers through his dark, curly hair. She watches as he clamps his eyes shut, gnawing on his bottom lip. She knows he wouldn’t ask if he didn’t think she could do it, it’s just… this is not the best time.

Leaning forward, and bracing her head on her fist again, she places her other arm on his shoulder. “Your timing isn’t the best, Mr. Perron. I’ll grant you that.”

“Yeah, it’s never been great, as we’re both well aware,” he mutters under his breath. She thinks back on when his ex-wife, Kari, asked for a divorce. It was a week before his brother had the aneurysm and passed away. Kari wanted a husband who was home, who was present, who was devoted to her. He was certainly devoted, but he was never home and when he was, he wasn’t always present of mind. They’d tried counseling, but the fact remained that he put his career first and their relationship second. To say the last year has been shitty for Nate is putting it lightly.

Head tilted, Beca’s lips form a straight line, watching him struggle as her resolve weakens. She lets out a sigh, knowing she’s going to do this, even if it is a terrible idea. “Two things: I am no Kelly Clarkson, so let’s not pretend I can compare,” she murmurs as she leans forward slowly into his space. “Two: I get full control over the arrangement. If we’re going to do this, I need enough musical magic to disguise the fact that I’m going to be an utter disappointment in comparison.”

He pulls his head from his hands and looks her in the eyes, both much closer that what is technically appropriate. “You are so very wrong, Beca Mitchell. I wouldn’t have kept working with you over the years if I didn’t think you’d been sitting on all this potential. I don’t think you’ll regret it. Truly.”

“Beca?” comes a very familiar voice off to the side. Beca blinks hard, breaking the moment as she turns to see Chloe, giving the pair a rather shrewd look “What are you doing here?”

Removing her hands from Nate’s arm, she leans back in her chair as Chloe walks closer. “I got done at my Dad's. Nate mentioned he was in town so we decided to meet up for lunch… talk shop and stuff. What uh… about you?”

Chloe nods, but gives her a look that says _We are talking about this later_. “I have a meeting next door in the Peachtree Center.”

“Oh… yes. Right…” Beca vaguely recalls Chloe mentioning that pre-coffee this morning. Chloe coughs, raising her eyebrow at Nate who's staring unabashedly. “Yeah, so. Nate, this is Chloe Beale, my best friend. Chloe, this is Nate Perron, the pain in my ass.”

Nate stands and gives Chloe a disarming smile that nearly rivals her own. They shake hands and grin and glow and their combined attractiveness almost burns too bright. Watching them shake hands for a prolonged period does weird things to Beca’s insides, like perhaps she needs to take some acid reflux medicine.

“Anyway,” Beca cuts off Nate as he is about to invite Chloe to take a seat. “When’s your meeting?”

“Meeting?” Chloe looks at Beca for a moment, confused. Beca rolls her eyes at Chloe’s inability to function around attractive men, and motions towards the Peachtree Center. “Right! Yes! My meeting. It’s uh…” Chloe glances at the new Rolex that Jacob bought her last month. Beca glares at it. “Oh, I should go! Nice to meet you, Nate,” she gives him the smile Beca used to hate in college. It’s the one Chloe’d give at parties to the hottest guy who’d inevitably follow her home. “Beca, I’ll text you when I’m done?”

Shrugging, Beca doesn’t miss the way Nate’s eyes trace Chloe’s form as she walks with a little extra sway toward the Peachtree Center, offering the doorman a bright smile as she passes by.

“Wow, so uh… that’s Chloe?” Nate finally remembers Beca is there and has the decency to not look so overwhelmingly interested as Beca gives him a death glare.

“Remember how you were just asking me to do you this huuuuuge favor? _Remember_?”

“Beca, hey, sorry. You said Chloe was beautiful, but I mean…”

“Yeah, yeah, when she smiles a unicorn is born and rainbows form in the sky. Yes, I’ve seen it all before.”

Nate fixes her with his patented raised eyebrow, stern and inquisitive. “I mean… yes she’s beautiful. It’s just… I dunno. You’ve always gone for the dark, broody types in the past. She’s like… the exact opposite.”

Because of his complete separation from her Bella life, Nate is one of the only people who knows about her feelings for the redhead. It’s been helpful, over the past year, having someone give her an unbiased opinion on how she should handle the situation. Doesn’t make it any easier when her two world’s collide, though.

“Yeah well, the way things are going, she’ll be my one and only dabble with the bright side, because she and that dumb baseball player are getting super serious.”

“How serious? Like, move-in together serious? Share a dog’s serious? Or just… vacation-together serious?”

“Dog serious,” Beca scowls. “He practically lives at her place when he is in town, which doesn’t help either.”

Nate takes in her words and mulls them over. “I mean, I get where your concern comes from, but when she first walked up here, she looked pretty unhappy to see me.”

“Until you gave her that stupid Panty-Dropper smile… with all your stupid dimples and whatnot,” Beca growls, motioning to his stupid beautiful face. “Could it hurt you to be less attractive? _Seriously_? It’s totally unfair.”

A blush creeps up his neck as he reaches out to Beca’s plate and tosses a fry at her, rolling his eyes. “Oh like you can talk, Ms. Mitchell. You may pretend to be all awkward, but I’ve seen you turn on the charm. So don’t give me that.”

“Oh please. I am not the one dating a freaking supermodel.”

“But you could be!” He shoots back at her with a grin. “Let’s not forget Angelique was giving you bedroom eyes at that thing two weeks ago.”

Beca coughs at the mention of the woman in question. “She wasn’t playing either. When I got ready to go, she followed me to the door and like —“

“Oh my God, did she kiss you!?”

“Yes? It was all very strange because I wasn’t expecting it? And she’s so freaking tall! She just... laid one on me, then she slid a napkin into the top of my dress and told me to call her.”

“Damn,” Nate shakes his head, laughing at her. “I’d have paid good money to see the look on your face afterwards.”

“It was like my normal face, just more… shock and less chill.”

“Beca Mitchell, there is not a chill bone in your tiny body.”

“Fuck you, I am _super_ chill, ” Beca tosses a fry at him in rebuttal, feeling light for the first time in days. Then she registers the feeling and immediately feels guilty.

Nate picks up on her rapid change of mood and grabs their trays then returns them inside. “C’mon… I want you to come with me to hear something.”

Not having anything better to do for a couple hours, Beca simply takes his outstretched hand and follows him back to the recording studio. They mess around with the instruments, lay down a track, and then Dom breaks up their jam session, informing them that it’s getting late and he has to pick up his kids from Tae Kwon Do.

It’s dark and frosty when they exit the building. Beca summons and Uber while Nate waits beside her quietly, absently humming the song they just made. It was a fast and furious recording session, but they had words and rhythm and the means, so it happened with ease. Those magic sessions are few and far between, but when they occur, they must be taken advantage of.

Her ride arrives and Nate slaps Beca’s hands in a familiar handshake and promises to see her the following afternoon.

.::.::.::.

“Where’d you disappear to? I would have picked you up,” Chloe admonishes as Beca returns home long after rush hour.

Shrugging, she takes a seat on the barstool as Chloe finishes her glass of wine and pulls out one for Beca. “Went back to the studio with Nate, messed around with a song for a bit… met Sheila and Debbie at the lawyer’s office for a meeting. Shockingly, Sheila had very little to dispute with our choices.”

“They were good choices,” Chloe murmurs as she refills her glass of wine and offers one to Beca, who nods. “So, you had a busy day then…”

“Yeah, just trying to get everything taken care of,” Beca replies stiffly. She hopes Chloe won’t bring up Nate, but by the set of the other woman’s mouth that’s exactly where the conversation is going.

“So uh…Nate is _much_ more attractive in person,” Chloe begins, not even bothering to be subtle. “Like… it’s almost hard to look at him, he’s so good looking.”

“Try looking in the mirror,” Beca mumbles as she pulls out her phone to read a text, ignoring Chloe’s raised eyebrow.

“Come again?”

“Yes, he is well aware of how good looking he is. Women tell him so… every single day.”

“Ah, got it,” Chloe nods, twisting the stem of her wine glass in a slow circle. “What were you two talking about when I walked up? It seemed kinda serious.”

Beca scrubs her hand over her face, trying to recall the whole conversation in hopes of drawing upon a part that is semi-believable. “Honestly? A bunch of it was album stuff and their upcoming Grammy performance. He also said he’d come to the funeral, so I guess you can have the chance to drool over him again, if you like.”

“Beca Mitchell!” Chloe taps her on the arm in retaliation. “You take that back! There was no drooling.”

“Maybe not, but you totally had your ‘hot guy’ smile on in full force. I almost forgot what it was like, watching some poor idiot get hit with that smile.”

“Oh shut up,” Chloe sighs, rolling her eyes, but secretly loving it. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“ _Seriously_?” Beca scoffs. “Please. You get this dopey look and turn into Chloebot whenever you’re around super hot people.”

“ _Chloebot_?” Chloe pulls away, unnerved. “What about you? Whenever you meet an attractive person you forget how to string simple sentences together. Or, you just say weird things.”

“Yes, it is well established that I am a moron, no need to remind me,” Beca frowns, thinking back on her numerous awkward encounters. “Fortunately, it’s been a while, so no need to fear there.”

After she realized that Chloe was definitely the One, she became immune to all the puffery in LA. She also became much more capable of handling the attention from those who’d like to bestow it upon her. It’s mainly because the interactions mean nothing to her. Chloe is the person that matters. No one else.

“And why is that, huh?” Chloe’s head tilts to the side, fixing her gaze on Beca. “Aubrey said she doesn’t think you’ve dated anyone in over a year. I find that hard to believe.”

“Why? I’m a misanthropic workaholic. What would anyone see in me?”

“You’re awesome, Beca! You’re passionate about your music, you’re driven, super smart, and you’re beautiful. What’s not to like?”

Beca pauses, not used to hearing Chloe’s opinion on her overall appeal. “I think you’re overselling me by a bit there, Beale.”

Eyebrows quirked, Chloe shakes her head. “I’m serious! You’re a total catch! I just don’t get what you’re holding out for.”

Opening her mouth to reply, Beca finds that she doesn’t have a response that won’t implicate the part where she has feelings for someone. Someone being Chloe Beale. And once Chloe picks up on the fact that Beca has been struck by feelings, she won’t let it go until she knows who the poor fool is.

The poor, unsuspecting fool.

“Yeah well,” Beca sighs as she polishes off her glass of wine, “me neither.” She misses the way Chloe’s face falls at the her comment. “Alright, this has been swell, but I’ve gotta send off a few emails and get some work done. Need anything?”

“What about dinner? I have leftover spaghetti!”

“Eh, I’m not that hungry,” Beca shrugs, giving Chloe an apologetic look. “Thanks though.” Beca decides to take the exit that’s been offered her. “See you in the morning?”

“You bet,” Chloe offers with a weak smile. “Oh, and Beca?” she calls out after Beca’s already begun to climb the stairs.

“Are you… okay with me sleeping in your bed? I want you to get somewhat decent sleep while you’re here.”

Beca can’t help but quirk her lips at Chloe’s concern. “Sure, Chlo. It’s been fine.”

And later that night, when Chloe eventually climbs into bed beside Beca with a big dog between them, only then does Beca finally surrender to the blackness.

.::.::.::.

When Chloe wakes suddenly, she’s incredibly confused. She squints hard at the bedside clock, reading only 3:27. Frowning, she pulls away from her previous position to figure out why it is so hot. Only then does Chloe realize the only reason she’s awake is because she’s actually sweating. Chloe’s curled around a freaking inferno of dark brown hair and pale, smooth skin.

Oh yes, she forgot about Beca Mitchell: _human furnace_. One of life’s great mysteries is how someone so very small can emit so much body heat. During Beca’s third year, they lost power for two days due to an ice storm and no less than three Bellas requested that Beca sleep with them so they wouldn’t get cold at night.

Ultimately, they all had a slumber party in the living room, but Chloe made sure she was right next to Beca. It was one of the best nights of sleep she ever had.

Sweeping the duvet off her body, Chloe falls back asleep, curled into Beca's warmth. When she wakes an hour later, she's unsurprised to find the bed empty. This is the Beca she’s familiar with. The one who sleeps three or four hours a night, the one who stays awake for three days because there’s a song ‘stuck in her head’. This time though, it’s not a song. It’s just an influx of emotions that Beca is in no way prepared to handle. When Chloe creeps downstairs, she finds a fresh cup of coffee waiting for her and the eerie silence that tells her the house is empty.

Beca is out before dawn in the frigid air, running so hard that her lungs burn and her muscles scream. What is she running from though? Mistakes? Demons? Fear? Why does she push herself so hard?

Frowning at the thought, Chloe decides to shower quickly and prepare to table her concern for a later time, because this day is going to be all about Beca and no one else. Chloe sends a text to Aubrey who's Staying at Jessica's with Stacie, while Jesse is at one of the Treble's homes. They make arrangements to meet up after the service before going to the Mitchell's home.

Once she’s out of the shower and is applying her makeup, she hears the garage door shut and light steps on the stairs. Soon after, Beca is in the shower. Chloe grabs another cup of coffee and sets it in Beca’s room with a banana. Afterward, she blow dries her hair and gets dressed for this day of mourning.

She hears the blow dryer from Beca’s room, then after a few minutes, nothing. But it’s a foreboding quiet that makes the hairs on Chloe’s arms stand on end. Gus comes to her bathroom and whines, looking up at her dolefully. She finishes pinning up her hair and follows her small horse to Beca’s room. Nudging the door open, Chloe hears the most despondent sound in the world and feels her heart crumble.

Chloe pads over to the ensuite where she finds Beca leaning against the sink, struggling for breath. If Beca weren’t currently hyperventilating and actually sobbing, Chloe would take the chance to admire the fact that Beca is clad in only black lace hiphuggers and a matching bra. She’s all smooth skin and toned muscle and Chloe’s mind only knows to file it in one place and it certainly isn’t the ‘friendship’ box.

The image now permanently secreted into her mind, Chloe leaps to action, quickly reaching out to place her hand on Beca’s shoulder softly. Despite her best efforts, Beca still startles, tensing immediately. When she glances up at Chloe in the mirror, she is sheer panic and distress, red eyes and tears streaming as she struggles for air. Slowly, Chloe pulls at Beca’s ironclad grasp from the sink, freeing her fingers and clutching them in her own hands.

Ducking her head, she seeks out eye contact with Beca, giving her a comforting smile, despite the fact that Chloe’s freaking out inside. Beca doesn’t lose control; not like this. That’s Chloe’s job. The role reversal is almost too much to handle.

“Becs I need you to breathe slower for me, okay? Just do the same thing as me. Otherwise, you’re gonna pass out and I know you don’t want to go to the hospital right now.”

Beca shakes her head, unable to to acknowledge anything Chloe is saying, sucking in sharp shallow breaths as her skin grows clammy and her body shakes. Chloe reaches up and cups Beca’s cheek, then places her other hand along Beca’s sternum, just over her racing heart.

“Slow down,” she says softly, taking in a slow breath and exhaling, pressing firmly against Beca’s chest. The other woman’s eyes waffle back and forth with hers so intensely, that Chloe wonders what Beca is searching for.

Slowly, far too slowly, Beca’s breathing starts to regulate. Just when Chloe feels a little better about The State of Things, Beca’s legs give out and Chloe carefully eases her to the cool marble floor, half way wrapped around each other.

“I can’t — I can’t do —“ Beca finally utters, clamping down tightly on her bottom lip as she shakes her head, eyes clenched shut.

“Beca just keep breathing for now, okay? Just keep breathing for me.” Chloe continues to take in slow deep breaths, her hand still pressed against Beca’s chest, the other wrapped tightly around her waist, legs tangled with each other. Beca leans forward, pressing her forehead against Chloe’s shoulder as she continues to focus on breathing.

Eventually, Beca’s heart rate slows and she seems to return to herself, bit by bit. Beca’s stiff grasp on Chloe’s wrist loosens as her spine slowly straightens. Beca’s gaze is focused on the marble floor, her bottom lip caught between her teeth once again. Chloe has the rare chance to not only watch, but feel Beca’s blush as it starts just where Chloe’s hand is still pressed against Beca’s sternum, and creeps up her neck and finally to her cheeks. If it weren’t such a terrible situation, Chloe would find it adorable.

“Sorry,” Beca murmurs with a cracked voice. She clenches her jaw as she tries to pulls away.

“No, don’t…” Chloe refuses to let her get far. Reaching out for Beca’s hands, she pulls them tight and waits for Beca’s gaze to crawl to hers. “Don’t you ever, _ever_ apologize for needing me. Or help in general, for that matter.”

Beca can only meet her eyes for a fleeting moment. Though they’re red-rimmed, Chloe sees something there that she’s only seen once before. She wants to crawl in deeper, look further, but now isn’t the time. Definitely not the time.

Instead, she leans forward and presses her lips against the younger woman’s forehead. “Please don’t shut me out.”

She can feel Beca clench and knows that’s all she wants to do. Chloe does her very best to circumvent this. “Come on, Beca. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

This seems like a reasonable plan to Beca, because she allows Chloe to pull her up. Chloe takes her time to clean Beca’s face, wiping off the ruined makeup. She doesn’t miss the way Beca watches her, silent and studious. The intimacy of this moment doesn’t escape Chloe, and she wishes she could peel away Beca’s new layers and walls and comb through them with due care. She desperately wants to know what Beca is thinking, but let’s it go… for now.

Quickly, she applies Beca’s makeup with practiced ease. She styles Beca’s hair in a familiar way and smiles at the finished product. Then, she leads Beca by the hands into the bedroom and holds out her dress, zipping it up after Beca’s stepped inside. It’s beautiful, expensive, and black. Beca places her hands on Chloe’s shoulders as Chloe brings her own hands up to cup Beca's elbows as she steps into her heels, bringing her two inches taller than a barefoot Chloe.

She looks up at Beca, their eyes locking for a prolonged moment. Chloe isn’t sure what to do, except state the obvious in a whisper: “You look beautiful, Beca. I think… I think he’d proud to see you today.”

Beca’s eyebrows stitch together as she nods, biting the corner of her lip as she wills the tears away. It’s something Chloe’s always been impressed by, Beca’s ability to deny her tears. Once Chloe feels them, she’s only ever been able to let them come in wide, sweeping torrents.

“C’mon, let’s get downstairs. Gus wants to make sure you’re good to go before we take off,” Chloe offers half-heartedly, but it falls just a little flat.

Regardless, Beca is the one who reaches out to grab Chloe’s hand, and she doesn’t let go. Not through the viewing and all the platitudes offered before the service. Not even when they take their seats at the front of the Chapel.

Chloe’s never felt so sure of anything as when she’s had Beca’s hand in hers.

.::.::.::.

Beca immediately regrets agreeing to speak at the funeral service once she sees how many people showed up.

“Woah, do you think people found out you were speaking?” Chloe murmurs as she spots the size of the crowd. There are throngs of people standing in a ridiculously long line outside the chapel. Chairs have been placed outside on the grass and projection screens have been hung. Classes have been canceled for the day. Overwhelming doesn’t begin to describe the response to her father’s death.

“What's that got to do with anything?” Beca replies listlessly as she calculates approximately how many people are there. Easily four thousand. Maybe more. Their university isn’t large, but it makes up for it’s lack of size in enthusiasm.

“Oh Beca, you're so cute when you're oblivious to how awesome you are.”

Beca scrunches her nose and simply huffs in reply, but tightens her hold on Chloe as they enter the chapel. Beca averts her gaze from the open casket and comes to a halt in front of Sheila, standing in the receiving line with her sister and mother. She's a shell of herself, overcome with grief and pain. She shows a glimmer of light upon seeing Beca, reaching out to pull her into a tight hug.

“Oh my sweet, sweet girl,” she whispers into Beca's ear. Beca’s never been called ‘sweet’ before and isn't sure how to take that. Instead she pulls away and looks at Sheila and gives her a weak smile, then squeezes her shoulders.

“You sure you want me to read that poem?”

Sheila nods vigorously. “I haven't been this certain in a while, Beca. Please?”

Nodding, Beca begins to understand that Sheila wants this last moment with her Father, even if Beca has to be the conduit. No matter how much Beca would like to hunker down in the corner and brood, she cannot deny Sheila this one service.

So, she steadies herself and takes a seat beside Chloe. Chloe, the woman who's dealt with her mercurial moods, her unending taciturn behavior; she's stayed with her through it all. They settle into the pew and quietly wait for the invocation. Chloe grabs Beca’s hand, twining their fingers and giving her a squeeze of support. It’s this that grounds her.

The Pastor takes his place and begins the invocation, but Beca doesn't hear a word. She flashes back to her childhood, sitting in bed with her Dad when he'd read her bedtime stories. And later, when she'd read them to him. She thinks back on when she was swimming all the time and her Dad would come to her meets and cheer her on. She swam butterfly and breaststroke with abandon and won most races until girls started getting taller and stronger, while she remained small.

Every time she broke the surface, she could hear her Dad, cheering for her, spurring her on. Eventually though, she quit and never once looked back.

Another person, maybe the Literature Department head, goes up to tell some sappy anecdote. Beca is too busy reliving how loudly her Dad cheered for her after the piano recital that happened on her 10th birthday. When she'd taken her bow, all she saw was her Dad, standing and clapping and smiling brightly. It was the happiest she'd seen him in ages.

He walked out on them a week later.

Beca continued to play piano after that, but her heart wasn't in it. Her mom was a cellist by trade until she had to give up her life as a musician to help support the family. Beca's Dad wasn't finished yet with his PHD at the University of Washington, Beca was on the way, and they were broke. So Beca’s mom, Elizabeth, gave up her second-chair seat with the Seattle Symphony and became an accountant. They moved to Portland two years after Beca was born, where her Dad started as an adjunct professor with hopes of placement on the Tenure-track.

Let it be known that Elizabeth Mitchell, was/is startlingly gorgeous. Of Scandinavian descent with cool blue eyes and pale blonde hair, her coolness extended to much more than her appearance. She was raised with little affection and had a near puritanical work ethic. She was dedicated to her craft and had a mind for all things analytical. These traits carried on into her parenting skills. Most Beca’s affection, she received from her father. Her Mom would simply swipe a thumb lightly on her cheek and send her on her way.

Beca never received the same kind of validation from her Mom as she did from her Dad until she took up the bass at the end of middle school. Even then… It wasn't the same. Though Beca takes after her Dad in appearance, there is absolutely no doubt that she is her mother's daughter; from the color of their eyes to their musical abilities, to their difficulty connecting with others. Beca's always wondered what she'd be like if her Dad had stuck around. Her parents were pretty miserable and that wouldn't foster growth and development, so she doubts she'd be much different than she is now.

After several mind-numbing minutes, it's time for Beca to take the podium. She feels Chloe squeeze her hand before letting go, murmuring what Beca thinks is a prayer. As Beca makes her way to the front, she feels her stomach churn ominously and never in her life has she felt more linked to Aubrey.

She reaches the podium and surveys the absolutely packed Chapel, eyes the camera that is broadcasting for those sitting outside and clenches her jaw. Spotting the Bellas and several Trebles sitting halfway back, clad in black and seated together in a row, she feels a burst of fortitude and pushes ahead. She's played for venues stuffed with 20,000 people. She will _not_ break down.

She looks down at the sheet of paper before her and digs her finger into the top, as though nailing it into place.

“When I graduated from Barden, my Dad recited an abbreviated version of this this poem at my graduation party. I had no idea that he wrote it, nor did I know there was more. Yesterday, when I was hanging out in his office, I found it and figured this was a good way to convey how much…” Beca pauses, but her throat doesn't close up,“how much we mean to each other.”

She starts reading a poem similar to The Giving Tree, but with less of a shady relationship and more of a display of their mutual love and regard for each other. Halfway through speaking, Beca feels her resolve start to weaken. Her gaze immediately flits to Chloe, but then she sees blonde hair caught in sunlight, hovering on the periphery of the chapel.

It’s her Mom. And for everything she’s worth, Beca cannot handle the look of heartbreak on her Mom’s face. Beca’s face crumples and she bites down on her bottom lip, working so hard to keep the tears at bay as her Mom places her fingers to her lips and then presses them to her heart.

A tear streaks down Beca’s face, but she pushes ahead, reading the words with due meaning. She doesn’t miss the sounds of crying throughout the chapel, sniffing and tissues abound. Truly, once Beca finishes, there is not a dry eye in the entire chapel.

When she descends from the stage, she doesn't go to her original seat. Instead she goes directly to her Mom and they walk outside, barely holding it together. Once they get outside, shrouded by a tall hedge and a garden, Beca loses her cool and begins sobbing once again.

Having softened somewhat over the years, Elizabeth immediately engulfs her in a hug. She says nothing, but provides constant pressure as Beca sobs into her shoulder. Several minutes later, they pull apart with glassy eyes and puffy cheeks. Thank God for waterproof mascara.

“I'm so glad you came,” Beca whispers with a broken voice. “I don't know how to do this... l _can't_ , Mom.”

“Oh, Beca, you were born with one track in your mind and never needed a guidebook. I doubt you'll need one now.”

“I just…” Beca releases a soggy sigh. “I don't know how to keep going without him.”

Her mom doesn't respond, instead she just pulls her close once again.

“Just pretend he’s out of the country, that's what I've always done,” her mom replies, explaining exactly why she seemed mostly unaffected by their separation. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, all these years later, to learn how little her Dad meant to her Mom. Then again, sentimentality never ranked high on her Mom’s list of importance. Hard work and a strong sense of worth ethic? There you go.

Beca considers giving a snarky response, but cuts herself off in favor of receiving a rare hug from her Mom. They remain in a tight embrace as they both weep silently for several minutes. Eventually they draw apart when they hear voices emerging from around the tall shrub.

“Y’all! I found her!,” calls Cynthia Rose as she rounds the shrubbery into their quiet courtyard. Quickly, Beca is surrounded by Bellas and Trebles and family.

She’s never felt so much… warmth and affection in her life, and she’s not quite sure what to do with it. Still, she accepts this circle of sisterhood and holds this feeling tight, locking it in the recesses of her mind.

.::.::.::.

The following morning when Beca is supposed to leave, Chloe regretfully has to get a venue set up for a wedding the following day. Beca’s Mom left the night of the funeral. Shelia kindly offers to take Beca to the airport, and with a soft nod, she accepts.

Far too maudlin, Beca and Chloe bid each other farewell crazy early that morning. It’s lethargic and solemn and full of things left unsaid. When Chloe hugs Beca goodbye, it’s so tight that Beca wonders why Chloe is holding on so hard, until she realizes she’s doing the same.

“I love you Beca,” she murmurs into her hair. “Let me know when you get home.”

“I… love you too,” Beca replies breathily as they pull away. She knows her love isn’t the same as Chloe’s, but she still relishes the chance to say it without suspicion. “I’ll do you one better and pull Aubrey in on the call.”

Chloe squeezes her hands and tugs her close once more, pressing her lips to Beca’s temple. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Shelia picks her up nearly an hour later outside Chloe's home with a shadowy smile and companionable silence. They cruise on the interstate towards the airport, but as they near her exit, Beca receives an alert that her flight has been delayed for four hours

“Do you want to get breakfast or something? I don’t have any pressing matters,” Sheila proposes as alternative.

“Not all that hungry, to be honest,” Beca replies with a shrug, giving Sheila a tentative look. “I could use a coffee though.”

Sheila takes a deep breath and nods, then takes the next exit. When she pulls off at a local coffee shop, she looks over at Beca and gives her a watery look.

“So, I've been thinking about something since I woke up,” she starts slowly, reaching into her coat pocket and pulling out a carefully folded piece of paper. She opens it to reveal the doodle Beca made of the blackbirds.

“I'd like to get this…” she holds up the piece of paper, “tattooed somewhere on my body.”

Eyebrows shooting upward, Beca's eyes dart between the paper and Sheila’s serious expression. This a woman from a strict Southern Baptist family. She doesn't curse, rarely drinks, and makes it to church and bible study every week.

“Uh… you sure? Grief can do—”

“Very sure,” Sheila interrupts assuredly.

Letting out a puff of air, Beca shrugs and looks to Sheila once again, quickly embracing the impulsive act. “Let's do it.”

After ten minutes of joint researching, they settle on a tattoo parlor twenty minutes away. They walk in and are greeted by a trim woman with dark lavender hair, ruby red lips, matching tattooed sleeves, and a Marilyn Monroe piercing.

“Hey ladies, I’m Betty,” she states with a surprisingly husky voice. “How can I help you?”

“We'd like to get this,” Beca places the paper on the counter as the woman glances as the sheet then up to the two women.

“I dig it,” she states. “Who's first?”

Before Beca can volunteer, Sheila steps forward. “Me. I'd like to get it… Right here, if possible.”

Sheila motions to the inner part of her right wrist, the predetermined location she and Beca came up with. The two women follow Betty to the back of the shop and prepare to get a pair of two blackbirds, sitting on a branch, watching as the third flies away.

The only difference from the drawing is that they add a small flower blossom to the branch in his wake.

“I'm sorry for your loss,” Betty offers quietly as she finishes up with Beca while Sheila is in the restroom. “It's on the house. Not every day one of my favorite musicians stops by.”

Eyebrow quirked, Beca replies,“You know who I am?” Beca's inability to grasp her popularity is both endearing and troublesome at times, especially when she neglects to exercise due caution.

Betty simply grins and points to a spot on her bicep - it's the emblem from her very first album: _Long Night Ahead._

“Oh, wow. That’s… _awesome_ ,” Beca offers a small smile just as Sheila returns.

Betty goes over care instructions with them, taking her time with Sheila who took the whole process like a champ.

Despite Betty’s protests, Beca throws down a couple hundred dollars and takes a business card.

“Next time I'm in town for a show, I'll hook you up with tickets,” Beca says as they head to the door.

“Seriously? That rocks, thanks,” Betty lifts up the corner of her mouth in gratitude. “Good luck with your album, I look forward to see how you've grown.”

“Thanks!” Beca waves farewell as they head out to Sheila's car.

They get to the airport without incident. Sheila watches as Beca retrieves her luggage and holds out her arms for a warm hug.

“Don't forget about me, kiddo,” Sheila whispers into her hair. “I’m so proud of the woman you’ve become. I know your Dad is… _was_ … I know he’s proud too.”

“I wouldn't dare forget you,” Beca’s throat constricts at the thought. “I have that show here in late spring, so I'll see you in a couple of months.”

“You bet. I'll have the chocolate milk ready,” Sheila smiles with tears in her eyes and presses a kiss to Beca's head. “Love you, kiddo.”

“You too,” Beca squeezes her hand one last time, meaning it.

An hour and a half later, just as the plane is preparing to leave the gate, Beca feels her phone buzz. It’s a text from Sheila, bearing a photo. Beca taps her screen to reveal a photo that Sheila must have taken. It’s a picture of Beca, surrounded by the Bellas hugging her tightly, tears streaming down their faces.

After a couple minutes of staring at the photo, Beca saves it, then opens her instagram and posts the photo.

The caption reads: _Sisters_.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. If you've ever watched E.R. or Lost, then you know who Elizabeth Mitchell is. And yes, SHE is Beca's mom.  
> 2\. I've decided to take creative license and set Barden just outside Atlanta. Enjoy.  
> 3\. I said something snarky here before, but I deleted it. So... thanks for reading. Sorry it's so long. It could have benefited from some chopping, but I wasn't in the mood.


End file.
